


Too Long, Lost Cause

by staringatstars



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Grumpy Old Men, Strained Friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: Fowler knows he didn't stop being Hank's friend when he became his captain. He's been trying to help him for years, but it's starting to seem like the old Anderson isn't coming back. If anything, he's only getting worse.And he'd hoped giving him a partner, even an android partner, would help get him out of the rut he'd fallen into, but now he can't help but wonder if his latest plan to reignite the fire in him hasn't worked a little too well.





	Too Long, Lost Cause

A week after the android revolution and Hank was still up to his ears in paperwork.

Missing Property reports for deviants gone to join the cause.

Reports of assault from android owners claiming their androids had suddenly and inexplicably turned violent, even though if there was one thing Hank had learned after chasing after deviants, it was that they always had a reason. Turning your back on your programming couldn’t have been easy. Most of them were fuelled by desperation, fear, panic.

Rage.

There were even instances of humans preemptively disposing of their androids, an act which would be akin to murder in the near future if Markus got his way. Speaking of their homegrown revolutionary, Connor had been quiet ever since he’d returned to his desk, scanning the files without comment or his trademark incessant stream of questions. Hank side-eyed him through the space between his holoscreen and noteboard, hoping the android wouldn’t cotton on to the scrutiny. 

“Hank!” Fowler boomed from his office, pleasant as orange juice and toothpaste. “I need you in my office.”

Pushing away from his desk with his hands thrown up in exasperation, Hank grumbled, “Why’s he always bother me when I’m working a case?”

Connor glanced up from his screen. “When aren’t you working a case, Lieutenant?”

Hank considered that for a moment, granting the point. Brown caught his eye when he passed his desk, a certain smugness curving the edges of his mouth. “Ooo, somebody’s in trouble,” he teased, like they were in middle school and that kind of thing still flew. 

“Can it,” Hank snapped, but picked up the pace regardless. The artificial curtains were activated in Fowler's office, making the windows dim and impossible to see through, which Fowler only ever did when he was about to disclose sensitive information or fire someone. 

Surprising himself, Hank realized with an odd lurch in his chest that he hoped it wasn’t the latter. 

After slipping in, he let the glass door fall closed behind him. “What’s the deal, Jeffrey?” He took in the dozen or so images of Connor drifting through the office, each of them playing out a different angle of him examining the statuette they’d discovered during the first deviant case they’d worked together. 

Fowler’s countenance was grim. “Security cams show Connor attacking a fellow officer in the evidence room.” The Connor on the holograms shattered the statue, palming something that had fallen out of it. When he turned to leave, Gavin cornered him, his service pistol aimed at Connor’s head with evident lethal intent. 

Connor had failed to mention that particular confrontation, but it explained the downright murderous glares Reed had been shooting his partner, and the ugly purple patchwork bruising he was trying to hide beneath the gauze taped flimsily to his nose. 

Hank didn’t know if he was peeved at being left out of the loop or outraged that Gavin had assaulted his partner, and so settled on a happy medium he liked to call righteous irritation. 

“He attacked Gavin, Hank,” Fowler said, reading his thoughts. They really had known each other too long. 

Not buying it, Hank shook his head. “And that asshole had a gun on him. It’s a clear case of self-defense.”

“Except Connor wasn’t authorized to be there,” Fowler countered, as Hank had known he would. It didn’t make it any easier to deny, though. Truth tended to be tricky that way. Shuffling the papers on his desk into a pile, Fowler plucked one off the top, and waved it in front of him before slamming it on the desk. “According to Gavin’s statement, he followed the android after observing him acting suspiciously during a conversation beforehand.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Fowler. Reed’s had it out for him from day one.”

Fowler’s brows rose. “Are you saying he’s wrong? That Connor didn’t break into storage without authorization? That he didn’t hack into the database with _your_ password?” It was the same tone he’d used on Hank in university whenever he’d procrastinated on studying, lecturing him on how the effort they poured into their classwork would forge the path they would walk towards the future. Jeffrey was the type of kid that aced a pop quiz, joined every extracurricular he could, and still found time to organize group study sessions. When he'd made captain at an absurdly young age, the first thing Hank had said to him was, _It’s about damn time._

That was back when he’d had a loving wife and fatherhood waiting around the corner, when he was going to scrub the streets clean of the stain of Red Ice. 

They were different people, then. 

Fowler watched him with his guard up, waiting for him to say something in his own defense, but Hank wasn’t going to throw his partner under the bus to save his own skin, and he wasn’t going to lie. Distantly, he wondered what it would feel like to hand his badge over. How heavy would it feel in his palm?

When it became clear he wasn’t going to speak, the mask of authority and confidence Jeffrey wore began to crumble, giving way to exhaustion. “Look,” he said heavily, a palm over his forehead, “the bottomline is it doesn’t matter who it was, Hank. You can’t go assaulting police officers when we’re supposed to be on the same side. If the DCPD is at each other’s throats, who’s going after the criminals?”

Quietly, Hank asked him, “Is this about Reed or Perkins?”

Fowler threw up his hands. “Both!” And Hank wisely took a step back to give him space as he vented, “You’re lucky I convinced the board to let you keep your job, which, by the way, I’ve done so often over the years I should be putting it on my damn resume´!” Though he managed to suppress a wince, Hank didn’t miss the flash of regret that passed over the captain’s face. He’d been steadily rising out of his seat, but now he sank into it, glancing to the side with a fatigued sigh. 

“And it’s not just that,” the captain muttered softly. “He deliberately tampered with the evidence-”

“Dammit, Jeffrey, he solved the case!” 

Showcasing another crack in his professional exterior, Fowler shouted over him, “Would you stop interrupting me?” And Hank shut his mouth, waited for him to continue. It wasn’t often that Fowler raised his voice, especially since he’d been promoted to captain. 

After gesturing for Hank to come closer, he whispered almost conspiratorially. “I think Connor’s been compromised.”

“Compromised?” Hank echoed, wondering if this were some kind of a joke, but one look at Fowler’s face told him the captain was dead serious. 

Nodding gravely, he elaborated, “I think he’s a deviant.” He waited for Hank’s reaction – denials and yelling – but when none was forthcoming, leaving him staring into a genuine expression of bemusement morphing slowly into guilt, the final piece came together. 

Fowler leaned back into his chair. “You knew.” He didn’t look at Hank. Didn't want to. He already knew what he’d see. 

At the very least, Hank didn’t deny it. “Yeah, I did.”

Rubbing his eyes, Fowler said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” A hint of hurt he hadn’t meant to express crept into his tone. He ruthlessly squashed it down, even though the damage had already been done. This wasn’t a talk between friends. It was a captain and his subordinate. That was the way it had to be. 

Except Jeffrey could never look at Hank and see just another officer. There was too much history for that. 

Carefully, like he was stepping on broken glass, Hank started to say, “You tasked me and Connor with hunting them down-”

“Bringing them to justice-”

“Semantics, Jeffrey!” Hank stopped himself, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Cyberlife was gonna destroy him if he didn’t get results.”

“Is that what he told you?” Fowler demanded, leaning forward when Hank refused to look at him. “Is that what convinced you to put your job on the line so he could destroy evidence and-”

“Find Jericho?” Hank gestured to the screens displaying Connor’s incriminating actions in a never-ending loop, recontextualizing them. “Crack the whole case wide open? Pretty much.”

“And he’s joined them, hasn’t he?” 

Hank stiffened, his gaze becoming wary. It stung, somewhat, to be reevaluated and analyzed, to watch a dozen options flit through his head in case this conversation went south. Finally, Hank’s shoulders slumped as he relented, though Fowler suspected it was mainly due to how little choice he had, “I’m not sure.” Waving off his glare half-heartedly, Hank insisted, “Honest to God, I haven’t asked him.” 

A whirring from the security cam momentarily drew Hank's attention. He followed its movement as its lens focused on him, brows bunching thoughtfully. 

“Because to you, that kind of thing doesn’t matter, even though it puts him in direct conflict with the bulk of your cases.”

“He can still do his job,” Hank snapped with a scowl. “He’s got good instincts-“

“He’s an android, Hank.” A flash of something quick and pained contorted the lieutenant’s expression, though whether from his words or his tone Fowler had no way of knowing. Unfortunately, he was too worked up, too worried and frustrated and tired. He kept going. “Jesus, do you listen to yourself?” Standing sideways, Hank showed only his rigid profile, which was enough to see that he was tensed to breaking. “Why are you defending him? A couple weeks ago and you would have sent him out on his ass yourself.”

“Things change,” muttered Hank, mostly to himself. It wasn’t good enough. In fact, all it did was confirm Fowler’s worst suspicions. 

Softly, gently, he told the former star of the DCPD and his oldest friend, “He’s not Cole, Hank.” 

Time slowed to a crawl. 

It was like Fowler could see the words traveling from his mouth to Hank’s ears, watched the moment that understanding became horror and disbelief. Betrayal. It was an unspoken rule that they never mentioned Cole. And Fowler had broken it, because when push came to shove, he cared more about Hank than about what he wanted. Still, Fowler let his gaze fall, stared at his hands like they could tell him where it all went wrong. “I see the way you look at him.” 

A low growl slipped from Hank’s throat, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Fowler, and you’re treading some dangerous ground.”

“Watch it, Hank,” Fowler responded before Hank could say something he’d regret. “I’m still your superior.” He gestured vaguely to indicate the situation. “This- what you’re doing? – it’s not healthy.”

And just like that Hank closed up. “It’s not up to you to decide what’s good for me.”

Fowler decided he didn’t have time for this. “Then if I were to reassign him to another detective-“ A commotion from outside drew their attention. Hank poked his head out of the office to see Connor was scrambling to pick up a stack of files he’d accidentally knocked over, with the help of Brown and one of the female android cops they had staffed at the DCPD. 

When Hank returned, Fowler observed, “It’s not like him to be clumsy, is it?” Hank glanced up at the security cam and its blinking red light, following its path from Fowler to him with a look of consideration. “Do you think he can he hear us?”

Hank scratched his beard, offering reluctantly, “I think he might be using the security system to read your lips.” The camera froze. Outside, Hank saw Connor do the same, and guessed that his LED was doing its best impression of a disco ball. 

Luckily, Fowler didn’t seem too surprised. “Add breach of privacy to the list of complaints, then,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand, then grumbled under his breath, “I thought I signed on to bringing an adult to the field.”

“Give the kid a break, would ya? He’s new at this.”

Fowler glanced up from the file in his hands. “New at what?”

Hank shrugged. “Being alive.” 

The videos were still playing on loop, which would have bothered him if it weren’t endlessly replaying the instant Connor broke Reed’s nose. In fact, he was actually considering asking if there was a way he could get that clipped and formatted into a GIF. 

There was so much good he could do with something like that, not the least of which would be making it into his personal screensaver. 

“In any case,” Fowler was saying, “it looks like he’s as attached to you as you are to him.”

“Doubt it,” Hank muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, ”You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Fowler glanced up at him, hesitating. “I’m not sure yet, but… you’ve cut down on the drinking recently.” Oh, so he’d noticed that. “You seem sharper. I thought that having him around would be good for you, Hank, and it looks like it has been, but what are you going to if he’s not around anymore?” Something cold and heavy dropped to the bottom of Hank’s stomach. Crossing the line from captain to old friend, Fowler’s expression softened, his anxiety shining through. “Is it so hard to believe that I’m worried about you?”

Hank shifted uneasily. “I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.” 

Fowler’s gaze hardened. “Then get your matches because there’s no way I can keep a lid on this. If I don’t report your android’s newfound deviancy, I could lose my position at the precinct.”

Hank considered that, thought about asking him to risk it and realized he couldn’t do it. He tried to imagine what his life might be like if Connor suddenly ceased to be in it, and couldn’t do that, either. Maybe Fowler was right to be worried. “And if you do,” he started slowly, each word pulled down by gravity, “what’ll happen to him?”

Papers shuffled, the looping video blinked out, leaving the office momentarily bereft of holographic images. “At the very least, he’ll be suspended. Re-evaluated. He came onto the DCPD due to CyberLife’s insistence that we field-test their pet prototype, but without their support, he’ll have to get in on his own merits.” 

Hank almost laughed. “Connor’s basically a computer,” he said with a grin. “It’ll be easy as breathing.” At Fowler’s unimpressed stare, he hastily tacked on, “Okay, that wasn’t a good comparison, but you know what I mean, Jeffrey.”

“Then prove it. I’ve scheduled his entrance exam for this Saturday.”

Hank rolled that over in his head, thinking of his own exam. “Not a lot of time to cram.”

“Plenty of time for an android.” There was a dismissiveness to it that had Hank guessing it was time for him to leave. And he understood where Fowler was coming from. It couldn't look like he was giving Connor any special treatment or the other officers would have a tougher time accepting him. It would already be tough enough after they found out he was a deviant. 

Fowler had returned his attention to his holoscreen by the time Hank started making his way to the door. He stopped with his hand hovering over its surface, rubbed his neck, then forced out an awkward but unquestionably sincere, “Thanks. I really owe you one.”

Fowler’s swiping movements came to an abrupt pause. “You owe me more than that, but it’s a good start. Now get out of here. I have actual police work to do.”

And with a rueful chuckle, Hank fired off a salute and strode out, leaving Fowler to his work. 

At his desk, he could see Connor perched nervously on the edge of his seat, waiting. He was visibly anxious, a trait which Hank hoped he’d be able to get under control once he became more accustomed to his deviancy. It wouldn’t do for a negotiator to be so emotionally honest. “Got something on your mind, Connor?” 

Connor watched him slip into his seat without comment, and Hank didn’t prompt him, but after a minute, he broke the silence with, “I was created to assist with the investigation into deviants. Without the DCPD, my existence has no purpose.”

Hank frowned at him. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any work of his own done until he and Connor had this talk, so he left the holoscreen alone, turning his full attention to the deviant with the existential crisis. “Most of us don’t. Purpose is something you have to go out and find for yourself.” Connor looked like he didn’t quite comprehend what he was trying to say. Sighing, Hank tried to elaborate, “Maybe doing something besides this job would be good for you. Give ya time to find out what it is you want to do, since CyberLife never really gave you much of a choice.” 

Connor leaned across his desk, insisting earnestly, “I already know what I want to do.”

“Tossing a coin and putting evidence in your mouth don’t count as hobbies, Connor.” 

A sideways glance at his partner revealed Connor wasn’t amused. Hank switched gears. “If this is about your living arrangements, I’m not gonna kick you out if you decide to take a break – do a little soul-searching.” Before Connor could respond, however, he added quickly, “It’s only a figure of speech.” 

That was one can of worms he wasn’t ready to open with the android just yet. 

A moment passed where Connor appeared to contemplate what he’d said. “As long as I stay,” his brows furrowed, “I can continue being your partner.”

Hank didn’t want to get his hopes up. “Don’t be so sure,” he warned, not unkindly. “Even if you stay on, Fowler might need you elsewhere or get you reassigned. Markus could need your help.” 

“Even so,” Connor continued stubbornly, “I stand by what I said. Unless…” Hank straightened at the uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice. “Do you want me to leave, Lieutenant?” 

“About as much as I want a hole in the head,” came the automatic response Hank immediately regretted. A look of alarm sent Connor’s brows shooting to his hairline, and his LED flashed yellow. 

Cursing his own carelessness, Hank opted to change the subject. “If you’re that set on the DCPD, your test's on Saturday.” A whirring from beside him spoke of Connor processing that, and Hank mentally congratulated himself. He glanced up at Fowler’s office, considering. All he could see of the captain was a hunched shadow. “Why don’t you clock out early and study up?”

Expectedly, Connor balked. “It is hardly necessary. I have the full DCPD course regiment and manual downloaded to my-“

“Connor,” Hank interrupted, keeping his voice low. “Just clear out for a couple hours, okay? That’s all I’m asking.” Though he looked like he wanted to argue, Connor switched off his holoscreen and rose, somehow appearing both stoic and dejected at the same time. Before he left the precinct, Hank called after him, “And feed my dog, would ya?” And maybe it was his imagination, but those last few steps towards the exit did seem to carry a bit more of a bounce to them. 

He rested his head on his hands once he was gone, rubbing soothing circles over his temples. His hair was shaggy since he refused to cut it, dry and overgrown with split ends and probably some lost woodland creature living in it. 

Maybe it was a time for a change. 

Climbing abruptly to his feet, he announced to no one in particular, “Taking off early.” 

Brown glanced up from his holoscreen. “Jimmy’s again?”

Hank rapped on the back of his seat as he passed, calling over his shoulder. “You’re just sore because you’re never invited.” 

Shaking his head, Brown bid him a fond farewell with a knowing wink and a chuckle.

 

The next day, Lieutenant Hank Anderson entered the DCPD in a striped suit and a heavy brown coat while sporting a trimmed beard and gray hair cropped close to his scalp in a neat and fashionable style. It gave him an air of intensity and wisdom that the cop wore like an old leather glove that still fit perfectly. 

Fowler left his office to greet him at the bottom of the ramp, resting a palm on his chest, and for once not caring that the officers were watching, didn’t bother to bury his emotions when he asked, “You think cutting your hair is gonna convince me you’re okay?”

Hank gently removed his hand, a rare smile playing at his lips and in his eyes. “No, but it’s a start, isn’t it?” 

Fowler surprised him with a solid clap on the back. “You’re damn right it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me that from an outsider's point-of-view, Hank's apparent about-face on androids, and specifically on Connor, could be pretty concerning. 
> 
> Also, Fowler is 100% choked up at the end. He just would rather send Hank to a chiropractor than admit it.


End file.
